a little drunk, a little sober, a little loved (makes a masterpiece)
by michellejjones
Summary: "Do you know what?" She asks him. His eyes light up, "what?" He lifts himself slightly, trying to meet her. "I think I'm a little drunk, too." [AU. Snowells. Oneshot.]


**This came to me in a dream. AU, set during some random, far-away Christmas party thrown in a place where everything's somehow okay. Enjoy.**

 **Title:** **a little drunk, a little sober, a little loved (makes a masterpiece).**

 **Summary:** **"Do you know what?" She asks him. His eyes light up, "what?" He lifts himself slightly, trying to meet her. "I think I'm a little drunk, too." [AU. Snowells. Oneshot.]**

 **Disclaimer:** **I do not own _The Flash._ But who knows? Maybe someday.**

* * *

 **a little drunk, a little sober, a little loved (makes a masterpiece.)**

 **by clarabella wandering.**

* * *

"Don't you think," he says, breath just a tad alcoholic, "that she's pretty?" He leans forward, bouncing on his toes, and she, as per her personality, leans away. Cisco, who's standing next to her, nods, biting back a laugh.

"How much have you had to drink?" He asks the man who's staring at Caitlin like she's a goddess and he her humble follower.

"I just -hm?" Harrison Wells' head snaps towards Cisco, and he leans back. Caitlin relaxes, and Cisco just barely catches the flicker of disappointment situated in her eyes. "Oh." Harry's eyebrows knot themselves together, and he says, "I'm alright." A slight teeter overtakes him, and both Caitlin and Cisco reach out to steady the older man before them. "I'm... I'm okay." Shaking his head, he focuses his attention back to Caitlin. "She's actually not pretty."

Caitlin breathes out, her face flushing as she says, "oh. Wow. Thanks."

"No," Harry squints, a calloused hand reaching up to rub his face. "Not pretty. Something else. God, what's that word?" He looks up at the ceiling, as if expecting thunder and lighting to rain down from the heavens and spell out the answer. "It's a big word. What is it?" Harry turns towards Cisco, pleading for help, but the Latino gentlemen just shakes his head.

"Sorry, dude, can't help you."

"He _can,_ however, help you get home." Caitlin nods towards the door, and the three take a teetering step towards it.

"You headin' out?" The voice is Barry's, one arm slung around Wally's as they take in the scene before them. "Need help?"

"How'd he get so wasted?" Wally asks. Behind him, Iris approaches, taking Barry's hand and smiling at the trio before them.

"The eggnog, probably." Iris says, matter-of-factly.

"I'm not _wasted."_ Harrison objects, glaring at Wally.

Cisco snorts. "Bro," he says, as he and Caitlin drag the genius through the door, "you're _so_ wasted."

* * *

Harrison falls asleep on Caitlin's shoulder during the ride home. There's a short, quiet argument concerning a Sharpie and Harry's dignity, but Caitlin wins out, and Cisco confines himself to driving to Harrison's apartment. "You think he'll be okay?" Cisco asks Caitlin after they've let him collapse on the couch.

Caitlin shakes her head, biting her lip and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "No. He needs water, and I don't like him staying here all alone, waking up with a hangover tomorrow."

"We could stay," Cisco acknowledges, already taking off his shoes. He knows her too well, and she smiles in spite of it. She takes off her shoes as well, and tells Cisco he can take the guest room; she'll stay with Harrison. Deep down she's still a doctor, helping people is her thing, and that wanting is buried too deeply into her system to ever _really_ undo. She wishes Cisco goodnight and sits down in a chair beside Harry's sleeping figure.

He wakes up about an hour later, and smiles when he sees her. "Caitlin!" He whispers, and she smiles at him. His expression shuts, and he asks her, "am I dreaming?"

"No, Harry," Caitlin says, moving towards him. She hands him a glass of water, and he sits up to drink.

"I'm not?" He asks, and when Caitlin shakes her head, he says, "well, sit down. There's a spot for you right here." And so, she sits, taking his glass when he's stopped drinking and placing it on the table in front of them. Harry stares at something, eyes off-focus, a blank expression on his face, and for a single moment he looks so faraway, that Caitlin thinks that maybe this time, he's gone for good. But then the expression clears, and he turns to her, tired and drunk and smiling.

He does that sometimes. He'll stare at something, and he'll get this expression, like his body is here but his brain is a million miles away, in a place that no one else can reach. It worries her. No one else gets the way he does; Sure, people daydream, but they don't _leave,_ not completely, not the way Harrison Wells does. She's worried that one day he'll be just out of reach, that he won't snap back, and that he'll be gone for good. She's told him more than once; they've been friends for years, and he knows her fears. "Don't worry," he'll tell her, when he catches her looking at him with that worried expression. "I won't leave. Not you, at least."

Now he gazes at her, and she feels a fluttering in her stomach. He's a handsome man, she thinks, good to look at and good to converse with. Yes, he's a handsome man, even when a tad drunk and saying things Caitlin thinks he doesn't really mean. "What is it?" Harry asks her, lowering himself, so his head is resting on her lap. He eyes her suspiciously.

"What is what?" Caitlin asks. He's never done this before; Harry isn't the most affectionate person in the world, and neither is she. She wonders how intoxicated he is.

"You've got that look on your face like you're thinking something really cool," Harry tells her.

"I'm wondering how drunk you are."

"Not too drunk," he informs her quietly. "I'll remember all this tomorrow. Every teeny tiny mortifying detail." He lifts a hand, touches her cheek, and Caitlin blinks, unmoving. "You're not pretty, you know."

She shrinks away, sarcasm coming to her like a shield, "of course I knew."

He catches on to her wit, and it's then that she believes his _not that drunk_ statement. "You're something else. God, what is that word? It's everything at once. It's..." he sighs heavily, "you're pretty, you're gorgeous, you're cute, intelligent, wise, strong -so strong- funny, adorable, fierce, kind, caring, patient, loyal, courageous..." his other hand grabs hers, and she links their fingers together, letting him caress her cheek, "...but those still aren't the words I'm looking for. You're, you're -God, I love you, but-" he's struggling, and he shakes his head roughly, upset with himself. "-But that's still not _it,_ that's not the right word. You're _beautiful,_ Caitlin." His hand floats down to rest on his chest, the other one still wrapped in hers, "I love you. But that's still not the right word."

She blinks, her cheeks flushed red against her pale complexion, and Caitlin takes a moment to reflect on her feelings before craning her neck down slightly. "Do you know what?" She asks him.

His eyes light up, "what?" He lifts himself slightly, trying to meet her.

"I think I'm a little drunk, too." Their lips meet, in a quiet kiss that doesn't go any further than a _goodnight._

When they part, Harry leans back, resting his head against her lap once again. He takes her hand and kisses it, content for now. "I'm not _that_ drunk." He says, closing his eyes and clutching her hand.

"Well," Caitlin says to herself, slightly surprised but not at all unamused. "I'm certainly never getting to sleep."

* * *

She does, eventually, go to sleep, but wakes up at around three in the morning, to Harrison kissing her hand. When he sees her eyes open, he sits up, excited. "I remembered the word!"

"Did you?" Caitlin asks, sleepy. Her head drifts to his shoulders, and she curls up next to him on the couch, glad for the chance to lie down. "And what was it?"

He kisses her cheek before whispering in her ear. _"Masterpiece."_ He says, leaving Caitlin stunned but not displeased. "Caitlin Snow is a masterpiece." He smiles, tongue between his cheek. "The most beautiful, most stunning masterpiece. What an honor it is to know you." He kisses her forehead, and then her lips, before he tells her to take his room. When she objects, he only insists further, until she gets up and heads to his room. She covers him in a blanket before she leaves, making sure he's taken some water, and lays out some aspirin on the table for when morning comes.

She's halfway through his bedroom door when he whispers, "Caitlin?"

"Yes?" She asks, turning around to face him.

He smiles at her, closed-lip, in a way that lets her know this isn't the alcohol, none of it has been. "Thank you. For everything."

Caitlin smiles back.

 _"Thank you for exactly the same."_


End file.
